hands of time
by thimblings
Summary: Dean/Cas. Set after season five, Castiel has rebelled for a final time, finally Falling and becoming truly human. Dean gathers him up helps put him together again, while Cas struggles to figure out exactly how he'll fit into the world now.
1. Chapter 1

Actual, real SPN fic! WOO. Well kind of. I'm considering this AU-_ish_ because it's essentially my own version of what happened after season five's ending, considering I haven't seen season six yet. I know a little bit of what happens, but didn't when I started this, so I'm just gonna keep going with it. A few things might happen the same, though.

Essentially, the idea is that Cas Falls (I capitalize it as a style thing, so apologies for that if it bothers anyone. Sorry!) a few months after the season finale, and this is him dealing with being human for a longer period of time than he did earlier. Been done, yes, but suddenlyhuman!Cas is my favorite thing to write/read, because I love analyzing how it would be to start feeling all these random things that we don't really think about. Also, I'm from Texas so it just makes sense for me to make him end up there for a short time because, really, _awful_ place to suddenly be able to feel things in my opinion.

Not sure how many chapters it'll be, but I've got most of it done already.

Uhh. _WARNING FOR EVENTUAL SLASH_ (Dean/Cas). I tend to not write outright romance, but it's there (especially in later chapters). Just. Very slow in coming to fruition.

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><p><strong>hands of time<strong>

The Fall slowed everything down.

It's been a month and Castiel finds himself on the same bed in the same dingy motel room and he stares at the ceiling, paint peeling and flaking and the clock on the wall ticks at a slow, steady pace. There's static softly drifting from the T.V. because he couldn't take anymore inane babbling and he can hardly work the thing anyway. Apparently this is the kind of place where people stay for extended periods because the manager hasn't asked him to vacate yet and probably won't unless he stops paying. He's still in the slacks, shirt, tie, and trench coat that Jimmy was wearing the day Castiel dropped into him, even though they are no longer kept immaculate by his Grace. They are over worn and dirty and despite the fact that he has a bag full of clothes he can change into, he still can't bring himself to do it. He showers, scrubs until his skin is red and raw, thinking every time that maybe he just needs to accept this, to let go – but then he's back in his old outfit again, wrapping the trench coat around him.

It's pathetic really.

And his stomach is aching and his head is throbbing and pounding.

He knows he should eat but he can't. It took three days of pain and vomiting up brown bile for him to realize that he was hungry, thirsty – that he needs food now. That not having it hurt in a way he has never known he could hurt. And even then, he chewed slowly and deliberately and even now he can't make himself eat or drink until the pain becomes unbearable.

Earth was created to drive man insane, he decides.

The ticking of the clock and the static fill his head and overpower his senses and he thinks he must have passed out from lack of food because it's suddenly midday. Everything is lost in the haze, but time moves so slowly. Every second aches through his bones and stretches him and tears at him and he can _feel_ himself dying. Can feel his cells and his organs and his blood pumping through his veins and every second these horrible human things get slower and slower and dwindle and he's deteriorating at an achingly slow and horrendous pace. He wants to scream, but a month of hardly using his voice has taken its toll and all he can do his stretch out his mouth and let out a raspy, breaking groan.

The room becomes stuffy and oppressive and he decides to check out. He leaves the shirt, tie, and slacks but keeps his coat. At the moment, it's too hot to wear it, even though he tries desperately to ignore the sweat, so he folds it neatly in his bag and hits the road going south.

His first sunburn is a surprise and he picks at his skin too much and creates sores that take a week to heal. A woman at a gas station tells him that something called _aloe vera_ can help but finds it difficult to believe someone who has tanned leather hide for skin and a smile full of crooked teeth. Man had always been beautiful in his eyes but seeing them from their own makes him sick. He later discovers that she was right of course and he feels his first pangs of the feeling called, "guilt." He also discovers the sin of vanity, struck with fear that maybe it will one day be his fate to look like that and get treated with the same disdain and he doesn't think he can bear it. Nature is beautiful, but cruel. The bright blue sky means nothing but unbearable heat that he can't get away from, and clouds provide cover but can lead to wind and storms that tear at his body - things he knows he knew as an angel, but feeling them now, wrapped in vulnerable human skin, they are monstrous and awful and _so different_ that he can't recall how it all felt before it could hurt him. He learns that towns in Texas are definitely too far apart and that the weather is too dry and that the air burns his skin and his eyes.

He begins to hitchhike eventually, because he also discovers that human legs are less efficient than angel ones, but these rides make him feel dirty and examined and they never last for long. Today, about two and half weeks after venturing from the motel, he's sitting in the back seat of a car belonging to a couple headed to a water park. The husband is failing to quietly reassure his wife that he didn't just pick up the guy from some movie called _Texas Chainsaw Massacre_ and she just keeps looking in the rear view mirror with a smile that has too many teeth and wrinkles that are nervous and shaking. They go ten miles before it becomes unbearable and they happen upon a gas station - _salvation_. He lies about his destination, rests in the truck stop, and then continues on his way a few hours later walking until he collapses again, wrapped in his dirty trench coat in dry unforgiving grass and he wonders when he'll be able to wash his clothes again or if he should even bother.

In his pocket, there's a wallet given to him by Dean, before the Apocalypse and the Fall and everything (_Just in case, you know? Don't want you to be stuck in a hospital again_) that has bits of plastic with strange names written on them that places accept as money, though he doesn't really understand why. Why did he not pay more attention to the little details when he was in Heaven? It all seemed so trivial and he flitted over these small things because he truly had no need to understand their use or their importance. And, really, these things were only minutes old in his mind. He's existed for so long that these new inventions, these strange objects, are still fresh and foreign and he hates them, longing for carriages and horseback and gold tender and things he can understand.

He doesn't know what he's looking for. Death maybe, but if that were the case, he would have let go at those first pangs of hunger. Suffered through it until he found a release. But he didn't. Cowardly, weakly, he gave in. Even though he fights it, he always eats eventually. He drinks. Sleeps. The want to survive is somehow greater than his want to escape and he doesn't understand why.

Maybe if he dies, they'll just bring him back like they did last time, before he Fell.

Not because he's important, but because this is a better torture than anything they could conjure up in Heaven.

Back then, after the Apocalypse had been averted and some unknown force brought him back (_It wasn't my Father, Dean. God has abandoned us_), he had healed Dean and ascended back to Heaven, more powerful than ever, with the ability to reshape and reorganize everything. He could have be high in command, part of the force that could reinvent paradise. But his gaze was ever downward and too focused on that leather coat and swish of brown hair over pale green eyes and when he conspired into Hell to save Sam he knew that there was no going back. One last act of rebellion in the Winchester name and he screamed as his Grace was ripped from him.

And as much as he wants to hate them, hate Dean and his spirit and his might, he can't. He keeps that cell phone on the charger every chance he gets, just in case he gets the nerve to call him up – keeps it close to his hand as he sleeps so he can reach for it and stare at Dean's and Sam's and Bobby's names when nightmares wrack his tired brain trying to remember kind faces and far away concepts such as "friends."

Really, he should call Dean. Tell him that Sam's alive because he's sure that Sam hasn't revealed himself yet.

It should be good news, but there's a pit in Castiel's stomach that's become an all too familiar feeling. It's different than what he's come to recognize as guilt, and it's definitely not hunger, but he can't place a name or an emotion on it and he wishes that it would go away.

A car rushes by and he flinches, glad that he happened to collapse far enough away from the road to not be in too much danger. His hand fingers the phone in his trench coat pocket, because he honestly doesn't know how much longer he can survive like this. There's dry, hard grass poking into his face and neck and it itches and he hates it. Every inch of his body hurts and even though he knows it's probably because he's not taking care of himself very well, he finds it easier to just blame the human condition and his frail and dying body.

He shoves to his feet and manages to hitch a ride into the next town, a place called Sherman, and checks into a motel where he finally musters the courage to open his phone and call Dean.

It rings for about half a second before – "Cas?"

Castiel's voice chokes out in a terrified croak, rusty vocal cords trying to remember how to say things other than _can I hitch a ride for a few miles?_ and _my car broke down, I just need a tow_ but all he can think about is that raspy voice on the other end of the line. The rough, slightly angry voice of a man whose friendship and idealism drove the perfect soldier to shatter into this frail and broken _thing _and despite all that it's the nicest, best sound he's heard in months and he closes his eyes and swallows hard. Dean's said his name about three more times, with increasing volume and he manages, "Dean. I – "

"Where have you been?" His voice has a bite to it, and Cas winces, before Dean's tone suddenly changes. "I mean shit – Cas. Cas…Look. I'm at Bobby's. You know where that is, come on." _Bobby's_? Castiel wonders what happened to Lisa's, but then he knows Dean and Dean's unwillingness to just _be happy_ so it's not too big of a surprise. He wonders what Dean expects him to do with that information. But then –

"I can't," he stammers, pathetically. "I – "

_I'm human, Dean_, he doesn't say. A twinge of fear tells him it's because he's sure there's no use for him unless he's an angel. And he knows that this reluctance, this fear to tell Dean what might make him unwanted or unneeded is what it means to be selfish, a concept he never had a use for before but he's clinging to it now.

There's a sigh on the other line and a muttered _fuck _and then Dean's asking him where he is. Saying to stay put. That he'll be there as soon as possible and to just hang tight.

Then the line is dead and Castiel feels what it's like to cry for the first time.

Pathetic and needy and broken he clutches motel blankets and hates himself for this weakness. His eyes burn and he wills himself to stop, that he doesn't have enough water inside him for this, but the tears keep coming because something inside him finally broke. And he hates how conflicted human emotion can be, there's the release of all the emotions he's been feeling for the past two months but there's also a bright sliver mixed in. Hearing Dean's voice sent a pulse through his fragments of Grace and this small piece of familiarity and hope is enough to ease some of his aches and pains and he drifts off into a sleep that offers no dreams.

A loud knock at the door wakes him up.

His first impulse is to hide, his heart is beating so fast he thinks he's going to die, that it's going to burst through the thin layers of skin and muscle and he's going to die. This is fear, he decides. A different kind of fear than when he first woke up in this body – that was a dull, aching fear that came with knowledge of what he knows had to have happened – no, this is acute panic. Mind numbing, confusing panic, and he's frozen in place even though every part of him wants to escape and to hide.

The knock comes again and the cogs in his brain begin to turn and he remembers.

_Dean_.

He rushes to the door, yanks it open and –

"God, Cas, you look like a lumberjack."

Dean lets out a hollow laugh because that's how he deals with awkward situations.

Castiel touches his own face, feeling the coarse and untamed hair that has grown on his chin and jaw. He knows that humans shave but the one time he tried it, he bled and wouldn't stop bleeding and it was really unpleasant so he decided that it didn't warrant worrying about. It had, of course, kept some people from picking him up as a hitchhiker, but most truck drivers saw him as a kindred spirit and tended to see no harm in picking him up. At one time, he thinks that his eyes may have been what won them over, but he fails to see how human eyes could ever have the same amount of depth as his old ones. Human expression doesn't rely on them as much, whereas, when he was an angel, they were all he needed to get his point across.

He finds it hard to look at Dean. His eyes are stinging again, his head throbbing.

Dean's body language doesn't read as being uncomfortable. He's bracing himself, feet solid on the ground, wondering what to do next, wondering which one of them should make the next move.

"I…haven't mastered shaving yet," Castiel mutters, finding his voice suddenly as he sheepishly looks up at the man in the doorway. He wants to chuckle or something at the end of this sentence, but being human hasn't suddenly made him capable of frivolous displays of emotion or expression. When he says this, it's not to make a joke.

He's purely honest as always and the recognition that passes across Dean's face doesn't go unnoticed. If anything could convince him that this was, in fact, the angel he once knew, Castiel knows that that was it.

"Or haircuts," Dean adds, looking at the brown hair that hangs down over Cas's eyes. Maybe Dean wants to laugh – Castiel thinks that this would be appropriate, considering his reaction to the angel being mussed up before. But the look on Dean's face is not one of amusement. Cas hopes it's not pity because he doesn't know if he could handle it.

And suddenly Castiel crosses the threshold and wraps his arms around Dean and grips tight. The man doesn't know what to think of course, because, while Cas was always up in his personal space before, it was always in a hovering way. Never touching. And certainly not hugging. But Castiel doesn't care. There's an emotion inside him, inside the aching pit that's been there since day one, that's reaching out for something familiar in all this chaos.

They don't say it, but Castiel knows that Dean knows.

That he's human.

That it's not the same as before, when he carved the sigil in his chest.

This time, he's truly Fallen.

But Dean keeps quiet, waits on him while he grabs his ratty duffle and leads him to the Impala.

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><p><strong>disclaimer: <strong>supernatural © eric kripke


	2. Chapter 2

DANGIT. Put this on the wrong story at first. Well. Now I feel dumb. UUUGGGGHHHHHH.

In it's rightful place now.

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><p>For the first half of the drive, Dean updates Castiel on pretty much every detail of his life the past few months. He learns about the parting of him and Lisa about three months ago – the draw of the hunt and the fact that Dean never really felt like he was anything more than a house guest and intruder (by no fault of Lisa's or Ben's, he's quick to say – but more on his own fault of thinking that people not raised in this life could ever truly understand him).<p>

He talks about hunts he's been on, how Bobby doesn't like that he has to share his beer, how he missed cheap diner food even though Lisa was an excellent cook. "There's something about getting served your food by a toothless waitress that just can't be beat," he jokes, and Castiel can tell that Dean's just happy to have someone sitting shotgun again.

The first motel they stay in, Dean shows Castiel how to properly shave. He works on his face, and Cas just stares at him. His green eyes, slightly wrinkled brow, smell of musk and old leather and the Impala. Dean is closer to him than he's ever been, voluntarily, and Castiel doesn't know what to think of the comforting warmth expanding in his chest. He hates how every tiny little thing that happens makes his worthless, human body react in millions of different ways. A slight breeze causes awful little bumps on his arms and legs, uncomfortable sticking up of hair – heat produces salty sweat that stings his eyes and taints his mouth. His lips dry up and flake and bleed when he hasn't been drinking enough water.

A small bit of closeness creates confusing warmth and a twisting feeling in his stomach. A smell can make his nose wrinkle involuntarily, eyes watering. But other smells can make him salivate, while others create that strange warmness and knotting. Every tiny, insignificant little thing creates hundreds of different reactions and Castiel never knows what to expect. Never knows when he might laugh or what will make him cry – while he can associate these situations with similar ones that happened while he was an angel, the reactions are different and unexpected. Before, something humorous would maybe warrant a smile, but only as a comforting, human expression. The feeling of humor, as an angel, was different. Impossible to share or be understood by humans.

When Dean accidentally nicks his jaw, Castiel flinches. It's a little painful, but not as painful as when he had cut himself before and Dean is quick to use it as another lesson. "When you accidentally cut yourself," he's explaining, tearing a small piece of toilet paper off the roll, "it's best to try and halt the flow. So dab it with this, and put pressure on it. It's not a bad cut, but I think you get the gist of it."

Castiel wants to tell him that, _yes Dean, I know how to treat a simple wound_ but he nods and dabs the paper on his face, presses it, and it's all under control pretty soon and Dean finishes shaving his face. He mutters something about Cas doing it by himself next time – with supervision of course – then glares at his hair. "What are we going to do about your mop top? You look almost as bad as…" Dean's eyes mist for a second and he clears his throat, "Anyway, let's make it a little more manageable, eh?"

Dean is in caretaker mode, but Castiel doesn't mind. A little bit of that new feeling of selfishness, he supposes. Or maybe it's also a bit of _selflessness_. He doesn't personally care about his hair or his beard, but knows that Dean has an image of him that's familiar and comforting. And that Dean needs someone to take care of and to look after and Cas doesn't really mind being that person for a bit.

It saves him from having to take care of himself.

When they stop to eat, Dean prods Castiel a little bit each time, never buying him a meal but always offering some of his. He appreciates this gesture, having been afraid that Dean would try to force him to eat. He finds it easier to pick food off someone else's plate, rather than being expected to eat a whole meal by himself. Though he doesn't tell Dean, Castiel begins to compile a mental list of foods he likes. Before, when he was first crazed with hunger, he went straight for a burger or a steak just because he remembered that that was what Jimmy was fond of. And while he didn't _dislike_ the taste, he found himself unconsciously avoiding things that Jimmy liked. When he threw away his old vessel's clothes he supposed he also started trying to figure out more about _Castiel_. Which, admittedly, wasn't going very well. It's hard to soul search when you hate the fact that you have a soul, he realizes.

Dean's saying something and Castiel only catches the, "…and I'm pretty sure people think I'm lugging a cancer patient around…" and he looks up. Dean sighs, eyes tired and dripping with something Cas can't place. "Look, I don't…I don't know exactly what happened, but I know you Cas. For whatever reason, you're human or _something_ now and you have to eat or at least start pretending like you care about yourself."

Castiel tilts his head slightly, a motion still engrained in him from before, and he squints his eyes slightly, considering this. It really isn't such a confusing idea – caring for oneself – but Castiel isn't really sure how he's supposed to go about it. As an angel, he always hoped to maintain an air of selflessness. _For the good of man_. At some point, "the good of man," became "the good of Dean Winchester," and while, admittedly, they were intertwined, a large part of him did it out of what he would now consider a selfish want to make Dean happy – but, as an angel, this was a foreign and unheard of concept. His entire life as a human so far, however, has been marked not with selflessness of angels, but careless disdain.

He imagines this is what Dean would call "giving up," which explains a lot.

"Also, you are going to have to talk to me at some point," Dean mutters. He's chewing absent mindedly on a fry, eyebrows furrowed. Castiel knows he's being difficult, but he's not sure how to fix it. So much of the past two months has been spent wallowing in self-loathing, hating every sensation – from too hot water to the feel of the one rock that's sharper than the others under his shoe – and he's not sure how to emerge from the other side of that. Being with Dean, even for a day, of course, has shown him less…awful parts of being human, but he's still struggling with the slow pace of everything. And Dean isn't exactly helping that.

Even though Castiel is sure that there's hunting to do, Dean has been taking his time to get back to Bobby's. The trip had only taken two days for Dean to get him (Castiel found that out a little after they left, horrifying Dean with the fact that he had essentially passed out after the phone call and didn't wake up, really, until the knock on the door), but they're on their second day now and Castiel isn't sure that they're as close to Singer Salvage as they should be.

"Time is so slow," Castiel finally says, getting a confused look from Dean as a response. He continues, words spilling out in what he hopes to be an intelligible stream, "My brain is thinking so much, over every little thing and I think that time should be going by, that two minutes from now, it should be tomorrow but it's not. And my body is dying I can feel it – "

"Okay, Cas, I think you're just tired that's not – "

"No," Cas cuts him off. "I can feel my cells getting older and my blood thinning in my veins and my bones getting brittle. It's in small amounts, but I can feel it. And I can't stop it. I cut myself and the blood keeps flowing and I can't will it to stop or do anything but wait for it to end. I'm weak and I'm dying and I hate it."

He feels heat rising in his face, a redness blossoming there and he thinks this might be anger. After all the hopelessness, he has to admit that it's a nice feeling – a welcome change. Fighting back, maybe? He's not sure. But whatever he's feeling, Dean smiles.

"What else?"

Castiel's eyes widen. What does he mean? "I'm not going to keep complaining, Dean," he mutters. As much as he would like to scream from the top of his lungs his disdain for being human, he knows that it wouldn't help. Just remind him what he lost. "All I've felt the past two months is hopelessness. You say I need to take care of myself, but I don't know how. I know the basic movements – sleep, eat, use the bathroom, shower – but the specifics of some are lost on me." He rubs his forehead and stares at the fries on Dean's plate. Dean's not doing a very good job at hiding the fact that he's saving as much as possible for Castiel to eat off his plate. Dean does raise his eyebrows at this, so Cas figures he should explain a little. "Like…what can I eat that will properly satisfy hunger? How much? Why do some foods hurt my stomach and others burn my tongue? Why do some foods not taste as good as they look?"

"Food's been a big problem for you, huh," Dean says. And it's a statement not a question. "Can't say I've ever had that problem, but, then again, I've always had to eat." He laughs. "That, however, is something I can help with. And I'll actually try to avoid eating only a burger joints because this is about _you_."

_Not Jimmy_, is the unspoken phrase. Or maybe _Not Dean_. Either way, it's a nice sentiment. And with that, Castiel eats a few fries, sips at his soda, and they're on the move again.

The car ride is filled with more nonsense talk from Dean, mostly him talking about the things he's going to introduce Cas to, but Castiel mostly tunes it out. Not that he doesn't appreciate the effort, but most of that is for Dean's benefit, not his. He figures that this isn't the best time to tell him that Sam's out of Hell, but he isn't really sure _when_ the right time will pop up or if there _is_ even a right time.

Because, no matter what, Dean will hate him for not calling him as soon as it happened.

_That_ part, however, was Sam's idea. Castiel was completely ready to contact Dean, because, honestly, the only reason he went to Hell again was _for_ Dean. Because he knew Dean was miserable without Sam. He wanted the Winchesters to be together, to smile, to bring back the man he rebelled for countless times, to show him that his angel would always, always, _always_, be on his side.

But Sam had things he needed to cope with, visions to expunge, and a part of him that didn't want to break Dean out of his apple pie life. Sam wants Dean to be happy no matter what. But Dean is only happy with Sam.

Castiel knows this.

But he keeps quiet, because he promised Sam. And that unfamiliar human emotion of guilt is back again but this time it's worse than he's ever felt it and Castiel hunches forward, clutching his stomach and trying to will the pit away.

"Cas?" Dean's rapidly glancing between the road and the passenger seat. "Cas? What's wrong?" His voice is urgent, and Castiel feels the Impala slowing down and veering to the right shoulder of the road and he knows that Dean's going to want to stop the car and talk about this so he straightens up as fast as he can, ignoring the feeling that _just won't stop_.

He clears his throat, catching Dean's worried and confused face and says, "I'm fine. I think the fries just disagreed with me." Which is a lie, because he probably ate like five fries but he knows that Dean's probably filling in the blanks with something like _well Cas isn't eating at all so I can understand that his stomach is hurting_ and that's when he pulls the car over anyway.

Castiel looks at him in what he hopes is an expression of confusion, because on the inside he's actually irrationally angry. He hates that he can't control his features. So much of his emotion is so easily read on his face, he feels vulnerable, and he hates it. Before, one look could have made Dean keep on the road. He wouldn't have had to say anything, just level his vision and bore into him. He's lost that intensity now, he's afraid. He feels weak and exhausted.

"You've got to stop this," Dean is saying, eyes trying hard to be angry, but Castiel can see that he's frantic. He doesn't know what to do with this angel, this strong thing that's now so weak. He probably doesn't understand what it is to give up completely. "You've got to stop fighting being human – it's going to kill you." His voice is gruff, breathing slightly unsteady, and Castiel can tell that he's afraid.

He closes his eyes, not wanting to look at Dean anymore. "And what would be so bad about that, Dean?" He's trying very hard to keep his voice level, but it's tainted with the sound of a sadness that he's afraid is going to burst out of him. "I'm tired, and I'm useless. I'm cut away from everything. My Father. My brothers. Where I could once hear their voices all the time, I can only hear mine. And it's sad and pathetic and _human_ and I feel so weak all the time, Dean. I can't live like this, I can't – "

There's a snarl that interrupts him and before he knows it, Dean has thrown open the door and is rounding the car to the passenger side, yanking Castiel out of his seat and slamming him up against the Impala. It hurts. And he knows that Dean is just angry and not used to being able to hurt him, but Castiel grimaces at the uncomfortable feeling of metal pressing hard into his back. Dean's hands are gripping his shirt and pulling it up and brushing against his neck, and Dean's breath is hot and unsteady in his face.

"Get a hold of yourself!" Dean growls. "This whole 'worthless' and 'pathetic' talk is really getting on my nerves. You know as well as I do that humans are stronger than you stupid angels believe – and I thought that you had been the one to tell me that Cas. But now look at you," and he releases Castiel from his grip and steps back and away, turning slightly. "You won't even fight back."

The anger is gone now, replaced with a sigh, and Castiel knows he's disappointed him. And an awful feeling fills his mind and heart and he thinks that maybe this might be "ashamed" which might not be so much an emotion as a state of being but he still hates it. Dean is the last person he wants to disappoint, but, then again, he's done a lot of things he's never wanted to do these past few months.

Dean turns back to look him in the eye, and he's still only a foot or so away. "Okay," he tries, "let's try something easy. What are you feeling _right now_? Don't think about it or over analyze it. Just tell me exactly what you're feeling."

Castiel frowns a bit, reaching for words. He motions to his stomach. "There's this, heaviness in here and" he motions to his heart "here. It's not the same as hunger, though I feel that one a lot. It's more like…I feel like my heart is sinking down into me. Especially right now. My body didn't like you getting angry with me. I feel…bad." His eyebrows furrow and he bites the inside of his lip, a new habit he's picked up in the past month that eases nervousness for some reason.

Dean looks uneasy for a bit, hands in his pocket, balancing on the balls of his feet. He's not sure what to say, and Cas knows that it's because he'd accidentally gotten angry. "Cas, I shouldn't have gotten mad at you, but…" he sighs. "You're…"

Cas closes his eyes and braces himself for more anger or…something.

"You're all I've got left," Dean says instead and Castiel opens his eyes. "You and Bobby. Hell, I've been staring at my phone almost every day the past month wondering if I should call you or if I should pray to you or whatever it is that I have to do to get to talk to you. And the one day I finally decide that maybe I should call you, _you call me_. And I'm thinking, 'hey this is like fate or somethin' and I find out that you're somehow human and instead of seeing the strong and stubborn you that I know, I find…"

The feeling from before grows stronger and Cas's eyes start to burn.

"It's breaking my heart Cas." A shuddered sigh escapes his lips.

"Dean, I…" Cas starts, but isn't sure how he's planning on finishing it. Dean looks at him with tired, hopeful eyes and Castiel knows that he has to fix this. Maybe it will all be easier if he does it for Dean, rather than doing it for himself. If Dean wants him to be healthy and more comfortable as a human, then Cas might as well try at least. "I know I've been difficult – " Dean lets out a scoff here " – and I'm sorry. It's just…it's been difficult for me too. But I agree that I can't…keep going like this. I called you for help, not to have you come and watch me die."

The matter-of-factness of the statement is so very much like the old Castiel, he knows, that Dean can't help but smile. "You don't have to do it alone, you know. We'll figure all this out together."

And Castiel knows he should appreciate this time because when Sam finally comes forward and home, Dean will have no more love left for his angel.

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><p><strong>disclaimer: <strong>supernatural © eric kripke


	3. Chapter 3

So Bobby's in this one. Hopefully he doesn't seem too weird? IDK. I imagine that Cas being human and pathetic would just make him roll his eyes and be like oh great, another thirty year old child to take care of. So...that's the idea here.

And slowly but surely, Cas becomes a lovesick teenager. A brooding one. But still.

Thanks for the feedback and the followings and everything! That's too niiiiicceeeeee.

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><p>The rest of the trip goes more smoothly, with the next day being filled with Castiel talking more and opening up a bit, working through his feelings and what they mean. Dean helps him understand things like not scratching a bug bite and waiting until food has cooled down a bit before you eat it so you don't burn the roof of your mouth. He explains how bruises form and how to clean cuts so they don't get infected. And Castiel tells him about his journey, the hitch hiking and the gas stations and the woman who tried to help him with his sunburn. He talks about the places he saw, for the most part, and the things he realized about Texas and Earth and he manages to make Dean laugh more than once.<p>

He realizes that laughter feels good in his chest, but laughing too much can hurt a little and that sometimes he snorts when he laughs too hard and that this amuses Dean to no end. He discovers that he likes finding ways to make Dean smile. Even though sometimes it's at his own expense, because there are so many things that he doesn't understand and so many small things that Dean says he's exaggerating but _he's not_. Other times, though, he catches Dean smiling just because he's found something that Castiel likes or approves of and those might just be his favorite smiles.

By the time they got to Bobby's, finally, Castiel feels a little better. He likes the feeling of Dean's laughter, the smell of Dean's car and shampoo, Dean's voice beside him when he sings unnecessarily loud. He forgot how it felt to be near someone he knew, who knew him before all of this – realizing that the fact that he's still accepted means more than he ever thought it would. He had been so sure that he would be considered useless now that he's not really sure how to react to Dean still wanting him around. And even though he keeps telling himself that it's because Dean needs someone to help him forget Sam, there's a part of him that sees that Dean's happy because he's _Castiel_ and not because he's a replacement.

Bobby greets him with a steady gaze, and Castiel knows that Dean told him what had happened. "Boy," he starts, and Castiel's eyes widen at being called that because _he used to be an angel of the Lord_ but Bobby continues, "what have you been feeding him?" And Cas realizes that he had been talking to Dean.

"I've been trying to get him to eat but he won't Bobby!" Dean's defending himself. Cas at least looks a _little_ more healthy since Dean found him, and he did eat his first full meal just an hour or so ago (a kid's meal at McDonald's, sure, but that's more than he's had since he Fell). "He's still struggling with the idea that you need to eat and drink _before_ you're throwing up sick."

"Well maybe if you didn't try to feed him gas station garbage he might actually try a little harder," Bobby's lecturing as he leads them through the door. His place has changed very little since Castiel last saw it, and that comforts him more than he thought it would. There are bits and pieces of the Winchesters everywhere – mostly Dean, but Castiel can feel the faint presence of Sam still. There's a blanket on the couch, as well as a pillow and Cas wonders if that's for him. "Here, eat this."

Bobby's come back into the room with an apple extended towards him. Cas gingerly takes it and bites down into it.

"You've got to get him eating healthy before you shove that garbage down him, idjit. He needs vitamins. And water. Not that carbonated shit I'm sure he's been drinking." Bobby extends a bottled water in his direction, and Castiel grabs it with his free hand. The apple is the best thing he's tasted in a long time, and he doesn't even mind that there's juice trailing down his chin.

Dean looks offended. "I didn't _make_ him eat or drink anything. I let him get what he wanted, didn't I Cas?" Cas doesn't say anything, just continues eating the apple. It's true that Dean didn't force him to eat anything that he didn't want to – of course, by doing so, Cas pretty much continued his diet of eating nothing unless he had to, but Dean was letting him make the decisions when it came to his life and he appreciated that. "Besides, letting him get a sugar high is the only way he'd actually talk to me."

Which was also true, much to Castiel's embarrassment.

Bobby sighs, looking back at Cas. "Well, you look like shit, son." Also true. "It'll be a bit before you're in fighting shape again, but I've already got everything set up for you here so you can recover." Castiel looks back over at the couch, and sees Dean shake his head.

"That's my bed," he says and then points upstairs. "You've got the guest room."

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><p>Over the next month, Castiel starts eating a little more and drinking bottle after bottle of water. Bobby introduces him to fruits and vegetables, which he notes that neither he nor Dean eat enough of, and grills him leaner meat that Castiel finds agrees with him much more than beef. The feeling of tiredness starts to ebb away, and the constant pain and growling in his stomach subsides to a dull roar and then to nothing. His body fills out and he doesn't get out of breath from climbing the stairs anymore. He sleeps until late in the afternoon sometimes without meaning to, and gets mad at Dean for not waking him up. This is also how he discovers that he snores, which horrifies him and troubles him so much that Bobby yells at Dean for saying anything.<p>

He finds a routine now, which, at first, involves sleeping a lot. Eventually, though, this routine includes helping Dean work on a car and taking walks around the lot with Dean or Bobby or both because he needs his exercise. He becomes fascinated with the T.V. because, unlike in the motels he had stayed in, there are more than four channels on Bobby's and Castiel finds himself watching a lot of the Home and Garden channel and _Dr. Sexy_ when Dean is around and Bobby complains that they're both rotting their brains. Once a week, they go grocery shopping and Dean always side tracks before going home to show Castiel something interesting that he found or something that he thinks Cas should know about.

One night, in the junkyard far from Bobby's concerned eyes, he and Dean lean against a broken down pickup truck and Castiel tastes a beer for the first time. It's bitter and gross and he hates it, but he drinks the bottle anyway because Dean finds the disgust on his face hilarious.

"If it tastes bad, stop drinking it Cas," Dean laughs, but doesn't take the bottle away and Castiel keeps drinking it. He knows that he drank beer as well as liquor at least once before, when he was an angel, but there was no taste there because he chose not to taste it. It was just liquid in his mouth and it had no effect on him unless he drank an entire store's worth. "Bobby'll kill me if I get you drunk though, so that's the only one you get."

Castiel's not sure how he feels about the fact that he's been accepted into the Singer/Winchester fold so quickly, that Bobby's taken to caring for him in the same way he'd seen the man care for Sam and Dean so many times before. Maybe it's because his newly humanized form causes him to come across as naïve and childlike and deserving of special attention – but he acts more like the thirty year old man that he now is than a child, despite being amazed or confused by what might be considered small things. He's still serious more often than not, stoic as often as he can be, and very, very literal. Maybe even slightly abrasive and a little insensitive. He thinks this attitude towards him might come from back before the Fall. He had never really thought about the times he'd spent with the three of them when he was an angel – there was always dire business to be done, in his mind, and he had always tried to think of those times as a means to an end, not a bonding experience. But the way that both Dean and Bobby, who has no real reason to feel a connection to Castiel, have taken him in, he realizes that those times had solidified him as an ally – a _friend_. A fellow hunter perhaps. And if there's one thing that humans do astronomically better than angels, almost to a fault, it's form lasting friendships and loyalty.

Sometime, somewhere, Castiel had been put in the friend category, and he doesn't know how to feel about that. "It tastes like…" he starts and reaches for some kind of comparison but he's got a very limited palette to choose from.

"Piss?" Dean finishes, and laughs. "Yeah, I thought so too the first time. But you get used to it if you want to, I guess. Won't get you drunk as fast as whiskey will, but it'll take the edge off after a few bottles and sometimes that's all you need."

Castiel nods in mock understanding, but he's much more interested in the fact that Dean's shoulder keeps brushing against his. Even when he was an angel, he knew he had held a preference for Dean over other humans. Uriel had brought it up one time, questioning his impartialness and Castiel had attempted to defend himself, but had found no evidence to prove that Uriel was wrong. And once it was brought up, Cas couldn't forget it. Things that he had once done without thinking, he was suddenly over analyzing and stressing over – he could no longer qualify that the reasons for some of his actions had to do with anything other than Dean Winchester. He had told himself, at the time, that these feelings were caused by the fact that, when he dragged Dean from Hell he had been the one to put every atom back in its proper place – he had cleaned away scars, he knew, but everything else was just as he had been. In Castiel's eyes, there was no reason to change him at all. But the fact that _he _was the one who pulled Dean from Hell, rebuilt him – Cas told himself that _that_ was the reason for his preference, for his admiration of the man. He was merely protecting what he had saved and, essentially, recreated – something that he was _charged_ to defend. A man whom God Himself had wanted released from Hell was not an abnormal choice for exclusive admiration.

But when Dean slept with the Fallen Anna Milton, Castiel felt something that scared him.

And the feeling only got worse as he continued to side with the hunter over and over again, even though every part of him was screaming at him for disobeying. He told himself that following Dean was closer to God's will than following the orders of the angels, but he knew that was just for comfort. He had thrown in his lot with a reckless, stubborn human and now, finally, he had paid for it. As an angel, he couldn't possibly understand what he had been feeling – he wasn't created to understand or process it – but as a human…

Pressed up against Dean, he's becoming acutely aware of it.

"Hey, Cas," Dean's saying softly, beer pressed against his bottom lip. Castiel realizes that his bottle is much emptier than Dean's, which looks like maybe just a sip has been taken out of it. "What do you dream about?" Cas gives him a questioning look. "I mean, I hear you tossing and turning every night. The walls aren't exactly the thickest here." He can tell, however, that Dean only notices because he's listening for it and that makes Castiel's stomach knot up a little bit again.

Cas shrugs, though, trying to keep an even expression. Drinking the beer helps, because it allows his mouth to do something else and his head to have an excuse not to face towards Dean. "I never remember my dreams in the morning." Which is a lie, but he knows that most people generally don't remember their dreams so he figures he can get away with it.

Dean doesn't look like he believes that, exactly, but he drops the subject. "What do you want to do once you get healthy again?" he's asking now, and this causes Castiel to pause, staring ahead. He hadn't really thought about that. "I mean, I figure you might not want to become a hunter or stay here. You've spent your whole…existence or whatever doing that."

Again, Cas shrugs. "I haven't thought about that much, Dean. For awhile there I was so consumed with hate for this body that all I could think about was how much I would rather die. But, for whatever reason, I kept saving myself at the last minute and now I'm actually _trying_ to be healthy but I still don't know why." He presses his mouth to the bottle and sighs. A strange echoing sound comes from the glass and he throws it to the ground with a gasp.

Dean erupts with laughter, hands on his knees, his strange wheezing sound that he does when he laughs too hard escaping his lips in bursts and Castiel thinks he might actually be crying as well. "Dude," Dean starts to say, but laughs instead and Cas is a little frustrated. He still has no idea what happened.

"My beer made a noise at me," he says indignantly.

"Yeah, 'cause you blew into it, dude," Dean laughs, but he's calmed down considerable and is mostly just chuckling now. He presents his own bottle to Cas, "Let me show you what I mean," and he presses it to Castiel's lips and instructs, "blow into it" and so he does. The sound that comes out is a hollow, deep, resonating sound and Castiel's eyebrows rise. His brain puts together how it's happening, and he feels his cheeks flush with embarrassment.

"It…surprised me," he admits, and Dean nods.

"I figured," he says lightly, still with a smile on his face, and he pulls the beer away from Cas's mouth and drinks a large gulp. "I know that you're not stupid and have figured out how that all works, but it's nice to see you caught off guard for once. All this time, you've been surprising me with things – angels and whatnot – it's kind of nice to get to show you stuff and have to explain it to you for once. You know, sharing experiences and whatnot." His smile's no longer one of pure amusement, but of something else and Castiel has to force himself to look away.

As much as he's sure Dean wants to share the wonderful experience with Bobby, they keep quiet about what they were doing when they go back into the house, and Castiel goes to sleep dreaming about something different than usual for once – drinking beer under the starlight, Dean's hand brushing against his, the knowledge that the bottle pressed to his lips had also been pressed to Dean's once – and there is no rustling on the sheets or restlessness to reach Dean's ears throughout the night.

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><p><strong>disclaimer: <strong>supernatural © eric kripke


	4. Chapter 4

Welp, almost caught up with what I already have written uggghh. But I wanted to go ahead and put this one up. Parts of it I'm not sure I like.

Cas is essentially a housewife pahah. I just like to think that'd he has a lot of energy he needs to get out of his stystem. And it sets up for what happens next, as well, I suppose.

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><p>When he wakes up, Dean is gone and Bobby informs him that he's gone on a hunt. "He's gonna keep me updated on what he thinks it is and if he can handle it himself. If not, I'll go help him, don't worry." And Castiel realizes that he must have shown his fear on his face. For the most part, he's gotten better about controlling what he shows and what he doesn't, but it's harder where Dean is concerned. He's pretty much transparent when it comes to the boy, and Bobby has mentioned it once or twice – always in an approving way, because, after all, Dean is like a son and he likes knowing that there's someone else out there who has his back.<p>

"Dean's a tough kid," Bobby's saying now, as they sit at the kitchen table drinking coffee. Castiel isn't sure if he really likes the stuff, just that he knows he prefers it black rather than half full with sugar and that he likes the burst of energy it gets him. Dean wasn't incredibly happy when Bobby introduced it to him – going off about how Bobby was always trying to make sure Castiel wasn't drinking or eating anything unhealthy and that the last thing he needed was to be addicted to caffeine – but he gave in when Cas seemed to like the taste of it well enough and liked being able to share in what he saw as a 'morning ritual.' "Well, I guess he's thirty now, so not exactly a kid." Bobby laughs, and Castiel looks fondly at him across the table.

"I know," Cas says, but he sighs. "I'm just not used to not being able to help out somehow." _Especially since Sam is M.I.A._ he doesn't say, but he keeps thinking about it. He wonders how long it'll be before he or Sam finally tells Dean. With every passing day, the grace period that Dean might offer him grows smaller. It's almost to the point that Dean would probably never forgive him if he found out that he had kept it a secret for so long.

"He's also not stupid. He knows his limits and he'll let me know when he's reached them."

Surely enough, it turns out to be a nest of vampires and Bobby won't let Dean handle it alone, so he leaves Castiel to defend the house and the junkyard and generally just feel pretty useless. He tells himself that it's for the best because he's not healthy enough to be more than a hindrance to them at this point, but it doesn't change the fact that he wishes he could do something to help. The feeling of helplessness is worse than it's ever been now, but this time it's not connected to feelings of not being able to make himself feel better. Back when he had his Grace, he could feel when Dean was in danger, could appear at his side instantly, could save him. Now he doesn't have that connection and his brain is filled with worry and he can't calm himself down or escape from it – of course Dean is in danger, because Castiel, his angel, can't come to his side, can't protect him. And he doesn't care that Dean seemed to get along alright before he pulled him from Hell because Dean still got hurt. He still struggled and bled and _almost died_ and if Castiel had been there then, had been able to help him, he would have in a heart beat. But now he can't and he's feeling helpless without having any form of escape or reprieve because _Bobby_'s out there too and he cares just as much for the old man as he does for Dean and everything in his heart and mind is going crazy.

Back when he first got to the salvage yard, he was too weak to do anything other than sleep, so the first few weeks went by relatively fast. Now that a month and a half has gone by and he's gotten stronger, however, it's harder for him to find things to occupy his time. Dean won't let him hunt, obviously, or he would have woken him up today, and he has no interest in cars or cooking without one of the two here really, so he finds himself sitting around the house all day reading the texts that Bobby has stashed throughout. They aren't very enlightening, because he knows most of the information anyway, but they pass the time.

Today, he picks up a book on vampires to see if there's anything he could offer if they call for help, and he taps his foot impatiently as time refuses to go by as quickly as he wants it to. All he can think about, with every word he reads, is that Dean and Bobby are facing these things and he can't do anything about it. He stares at his phone and considers sending a text to Dean, but decides against it. Even though Dean had encouraged him to text if he needed anything, that was in reference to when he went to the store or into town – and he knows Dean wouldn't appreciate getting a text in the middle of possibly bloody fight. He bites his lip and closes the book. He doesn't need a reminder on how dangerous the situation is, it'll just make things worse.

It's an hour after Bobby left that he decides he's going to clean. All the basic supplies are in the kitchen and he reads the instructions on how to use it all and finds himself on all fours on the tile, scrubbing away years of dirt and grime and he realizes he's found something he actually enjoys doing. He likes seeing the change from dirty to clean. Like he's making a difference in a very small and miniscule way – but it's a difference nonetheless and his feeling of uselessness dissipates slightly.

He's very quick to notice the things he knows Bobby wouldn't want him to clean – sigils, wards, hex bags, etcetera – and he even draws a few of his own that he knows none of the other hunters use. A ward against unwelcome visitors, human or not, strengthening sigils that reinforce the walls of the house so that it can withstand storms – small little gifts that he'll never mention to Dean or Bobby, but serve mainly to make him feel better and keep them safe.

_Safe_. It wasn't until a week of being at Bobby's that Castiel realized that, during his two month downward spiral in Texas, he probably should have been at least a little afraid the whole time. He was starving and throwing up – two things that had never happened to him before – accepting rides from strangers, walking along stretches of road that he had no idea even led anywhere other than desert. When he finally looked at a map, he realized that, at one point, he was dangerously close to ending up in one of the areas where there was maybe a town every hundred miles, and nothing but sand and dirt in between. He was lucky that he hadn't died, especially since he wasn't trying very hard to live in the first place.

When he had told his full story to Dean, starting with the first day after he Fell, Dean had fallen silent. His eyes filled had filled with intensity as Castiel finished telling him about that first week – the week where he crumbled, dehydrated and starving on a dirty motel floor, screaming at God and Heaven until his voice was hoarse – and Dean stood up and left the house. When he came back an hour later, his face was red, and he stared at Cas in a way that made his stomach twist and knot and he grabbed his hands and said, deeply, "I will kill you myself before I let you treat yourself that way again" and he turned the T.V. on, effectively ending the conversation. Eventually, Cas got to finish telling his story, as well as talking about the few months before in Heaven when prodded, and Dean seemed to take it better that time, knowing that, despite everything Castiel was telling him – he was here now, and he wasn't starving or dying anymore.

"Why did you Fall?" Dean had asked one day, leaning against the doorway of the bathroom where Castiel had just finished washing his face.. "If…you don't mind my asking." Castiel _did_ mind, in fact – mostly because he didn't like thinking about it, but also because he didn't know if he could take lying to Dean. Up until then, he hadn't had to lie at all. He had just kept his secrets and there was never a situation that called for revealing them. In fact, the only mention of his Fall before then had been on Castiel's part, and, even then, he never talked about it in detail.

He had cleared his throat and stared at himself in the mirror because he knew exactly what he could say, and he wouldn't be lying, but he didn't know if he wanted to see Dean's face when he said it. There was a line he had been dangerously close to crossing and he knew that admitting this would just about do it. So, looking at his blue eyes in the mirror, he said, gravelly, "Because I cared more about you than I did about Heaven." And he splashed more water on his face, eyes closed tight in his palms, and listened as Dean shifted uneasily, breath heavy.

"That was stupid," Dean growled, and then turned on his heels and stomped down the stairs.

After that, though, Dean seemed to regard him differently.

He began to stare longer than necessary, something that he had always reprimanded Castiel for doing before, and started watching for his reaction at seemingly unimportant times. Cas feels as though he's being studied now, as if Dean's suddenly seeing him as someone different and wondering what kind of person he is. After all, he is a little different now anyway. While he still has many of the traits that he thinks might be considered the same ones he had as an angel, his emotions have started showing much more freely despite his struggle to stay stoic. Human Castiel may reveal things that would explain what he had said earlier, and maybe Dean is hoping to catch them.

The thought of Dean's eyes boring into him causes Castiel to get those annoying bumps on his arms that should only be associated with cold, but are popping up a lot more often lately. Luckily, they go away fast, but it's enough to make his face scrunch up a little bit as he straightens out Dean's blanket on the couch. He distantly wonders if he should offer to let Dean take the bed tonight, because, after all, he might be injured. Though he pushes the thought away quickly, he still plans on asking him about it tonight. He feels bad taking the only other bed in the house all the time.

When they come home, he's just finished the living room, and has a vacuum in hand. He'd organized the books on the shelves and in stacks, in terms of their relevance to different topics and a few in the order they were written in and he really hopes that Bobby doesn't mind but it really was driving him crazy. They walk though the door, laughing, slightly bloody and stop short when they see Castiel. He smiles, and it's a genuine and large smile because _they're okay_ and greets them, but they continue to stare.

"Dude." Dean's the first to speak, of course, but that's pretty much all he says because the rest is implied by the way he's staring around the living room that's now devoid of clutter.

Cas rubs the back of his neck nervously. "It was hard to just sit here, knowing that you guys were in danger…so I found a way to occupy myself," he mutters and he feels a slight panic that he's done the wrong thing.

When they both start laughing again, he lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Bobby's saying something about how he forgot what color the carpet was and starts examining the newly organized books with a curious look on his face. Castiel knows that Bobby's organization probably comes from _dis_organization, but he says something about it being easier to find specific texts now and wanders into the kitchen for a victory beer. This, of course, starts the whole process of marveling over the cleanliness of everything and Dean making a joke about how having Cas in the house might be better than having a wife around and it's another hour or so before they're all sitting in the living room and Cas is listening to them tell the story of the vampire's nest Dean stumbled upon.

Though Castiel has been glad that Dean stayed here during his initial recovery, and was worried sick when he was on the hunt today, he likes the way Dean's face lights up when he talks about finally getting back into action. He's helping people again, and Castiel is almost angry at himself for taking it away from him. After all, he'd just gotten back into the game after Lisa when Cas called him, all pathetic and in need of care, and Dean had taken himself back out of it. He can't pretend that he hadn't been seeing the anxious looks on Dean's face on a particularly boring and uneventful day, or that he hadn't noticed that the morning paper is always scanned through too many times to just be due to an interesting story that Dean happened to stumble across. Dean is a man of movement, a wanderer, and he wasn't able to stay still at Lisa's, so why should he be able to stay still now?

Castiel's mostly quiet while they finish up their story, listening to Bobby get onto Dean about all manners of things while Dean keeps the smug look on his face that says "well it worked didn't it?" without him actually having to say it. Their banter is relaxed and easy and Cas knows that they've both been itching to start working again, which makes him both appreciate the time that they took out to help him and feel horribly guilty for it at the same time. Eventually Bobby gets up to go fix something for dinner, leaving Dean and Cas sitting alone on the couch. There's a slightly awkward silence and Castiel realizes slowly that Dean's sitting a lot closer to him than necessary and he's trying very hard to ignore it when Dean clears his throat.

"So," he starts, "you were pretty worried about me, huh?"

Castiel feels his face flush and doesn't say anything for a moment. "Yes."

"I can take care of myself, you know." There's no malice in his voice though, like he's just saying it to say it. "And if you're really worried, you can always call me."

"I wouldn't risk calling you at an inopportune moment, Dean," he mutters, though he appreciates the permission. "And I think if you didn't answer, that'd just make it worse." He doesn't want to say that it would drive him crazy and scare him half to death, but he figures that all of that might be implied or at least understood anyway.

Dean laughs. "Were you this protective of me as an angel, or is this new?"

"Always," he answers, without hesitation. "You're just more aware of it now because it's coming with stupid, human emotions." This makes Dean laugh, because of course Castiel still finds things he hates about being human. "I _don't like_ being worried, Dean. It makes me feel…weird."

Dean pats his leg firmly, and Castiel's skin prickles and burns and his throat goes dry. "Well, as much as I appreciate it, don't get so worked up – I'm not worth a heart attack, you know." And he presses two fingers to Cas's lips suddenly, and says, gruffly, "And don't say yes you are because dammit Cas. Falling is enough."

Castiel feels as though he's forgotten how to breathe and all he can think about it _the hand_ and _those fingers_ and green eyes staring at him. And Dean's face is unreadable, because of course he can hide his thoughts when it comes to _this_, and there's still blood dried and caked on his forehead from a cut that he's forgotten about, and his fingers are probably covered in dirt and grime still, but they're rough and warm against Castiel's mouth and he feels like he's going to explode. And he hadn't been planning on saying Dean was worth a heart attack – because Dean was worth more than that. He was worth _everything_ and Castiel wants to tell him that, yes, he did Fall for Dean, but he's now _living_ just because Dean was upset at him for taking becoming a human too personally.

Both of them stare at each other for half a second, before Bobby calls Dean into the kitchen to help him stir the stew. He hesitates, finger pressed to Castiel's lips, hand still firm on his leg, and then he abruptly gets up and rushes out of the room as if he suddenly realized what was happening.

Cas is silent all through dinner, thoughts raging in his mind.

Both of them avoid eye contact.

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><p><strong>disclaimer: <strong>supernatural © eric kripke


	5. Chapter 5

Boop boop. I probably should have held off on posting this one, because this means I'm caught up with what I have already written but it'll be a day or two before I get another chapter, so I wanted to go ahead and get the next part up, since it's done.

Chapter 5: In which Cas decides he needs a job. I feel like I'm making him too...homey. But I figure that he's had his whole existence to kill and fight and maybe he just wants to actually try this _being human _thing. Also, he probably wouldn't be able to take the tension if he and Dean went on hunts all the time. Or he's scared of what will happen.

Also, everything's getting happier slowly so that must mean Sam is probably gonna come back soon. Of course. haha.

ANYWAY. Next chapter. Thanks SO MUCH for the positive response! I really appreciate it. Hopefully, I can keep delivering!

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><p>After that first hunt, Dean is gone a lot more often. He never goes too far, and never for too long, but there are times where he's gone for three or more days and, of course, he forgets to check in sometimes because well <em>he's Dean<em> and he gets caught up in the excitement of everything and, when he does call, it's usually Bobby's phone that gets the honor and it's usually just to ask for information or to get them to look something up for him. When he's gone on a hunt, Castiel never talks to him. Bobby keeps him updated on what's going on and Cas offers advice and information that neither of them would know about, but he's never the one to directly relay it to Dean.

He's proud of the fact that Bobby hasn't been able to see how much all of this bothers him. Somehow, he's managed to shut down his feelings in this one instance, and the only worry he shows is the same kind of worry that Bobby does. Dean is his friend, he doesn't want him to get hurt, but he's not going to let that keep him from going about his day normally. Even though his heart aches and beats quickly and his mind races constantly until Dean finally calls and lets them know he's okay.

When Dean is home, however, there's a strain between the two of them that confuses Castiel. Sometimes he thinks Dean is angry with him – on those days, they don't talk at all, even though Cas tries, and Dean just stares at him for longer than necessary and then leaves the room abruptly. He's started to see a connection between these days and the times when Dean goes immediately from one hunt to another, with only 24 hours in between. Other times, however, Dean comes home and won't leave his side. He talks about the hunt and makes jokes and touches Cas's arm and shoulder and face to wipe off shaving cream that he didn't realize was there. When he's in this mood, he won't even look at the paper, unless it's to read the news out to Cas – a habit he picked up when he got frustrated with the fact that Castiel tended to mostly read the obituaries (_She was born on a Thursday, I remember hearing her wish at her fifth birthday party_ and Dean yanked it away and took away his newspaper privileges). Even then, Cas only gets to hear the happy or boring news and he's sure that Dean's avoiding looking at anything to do with strange deaths.

Almost always after these times, though, Dean doesn't say a word when he leaves. He's just gone. Which frustrates him more than when Dean ignores him and leaves after a day, because Cas starts getting used to him being there and being close and he thinks that things have gone back to normal and there's that feeling in his chest constantly and he can _almost_ imagine that maybe Dean's feeling it too – because Dean's hand lingers when it accidentally brushes against him and too often Cas catches Dean just watching him from across the room with an emotion in his eyes that he can't place but it makes Castiel squirm and feel hot all over.

Cas wishes Dean would just make up his mind.

"Are you going to leave in the morning?" he asks one night, as he comes down the stairs to get a glass of water. Mostly, he just wanted to see if Dean was still awake.

The moonlight is streaming in through the window, obscured slightly by sigils and wards drawn on the glass, and it creates a strange patter against Dean's restless form on the couch. Dean looks up at him, probably wondering how Cas knew he was awake, but doesn't make a sound other than a rough exhale of breath.

"I looked in the newspaper this morning, but I didn't see anything weird." He bites his lip, and he's making a connection that worries him. Deep down, he knows that Dean doesn't always leave to hunt. Sometimes he just leaves. "But, I could tell you had something on your mind at dinner."

Dean still doesn't say anything, just props himself up on his arms and slowly moves so that he's sitting upright, legs over the side of the couch and Castiel can feel his eyes on him, even if he can't really see them. He's starting to hate this heaviness – this _thing_ – between them, and he wonders if this is what it feels like to be in love. To worry constantly, to long for closeness, to give and give everything and hate when the same devotion is not returned – as an angel, he had been content to give without thanks, angry only the one time when Dean was making him doubt the faith he had in him. He had loved, then, though he didn't understand it in the same way he does now. Human love hurt, and was selfish, and he now found himself hating it. He hates that he can't just be content to _give_, that he _needs_ confirmation, needs something in return.

Cas sighs. "Just, come back eventually, okay?" and he tries to hide the strange shudder that attacks his voice and starts to climb up the stairs to his room. Dean is behind him before he makes it to the top, surprising Cas with just how quietly he had managed to move. There's hot breath on his neck, and a hand gingerly placed on the small of his back, and Cas breathes in so sharply it actually hurts.

"I'll always come back," Dean says, voice like gravel, cracking and sizzling in the sun. "You just better be here when I do."

And Dean brushes past him, up the stairs and into the bathroom.

It's the end of another month and Castiel has maybe seen Dean for what amounts to less than half of it, and Cas makes the decision that he's going to get a job in town. He had thought, at one point, that he would have liked to start hunting with Dean and Bobby, but there's a part of him that knows it would only remind him of how useless he is now. Maybe eventually, he'll come to terms with everything and join them. Or maybe if Dean ever needs an extra hand that Bobby can't provide. Cas had started relearning what he knew of fighting and weapon handling from when he was an angel almost as soon as he was healthy enough for it, just in case the need ever arose for it – and he was probably healthy enough now to start hunting with Dean.

But Dean had never asked him, and rarely ever even told him when he was leaving.

And the option was still open for Castiel to call him, but he never did.

"I think I'm going to get a job," he says to Bobby over coffee that morning. "At the library," he adds. He hadn't been sure if that was what he wanted when he saw the want-ad in the paper, but as he said it, it seemed to make sense. It would be a job that would be useful to Dean. Because he didn't want to hunt, but he still wanted to help, and he knew that Dean hated doing research and maybe, just maybe, this would make Dean actually call him. When he thinks of it that way, though, it just seems really pathetic and very far from _angel of the Lord_. "I feel useless just sitting around here, but I'd feel even more useless hunting, I think." He doesn't feel like he needs to explain, because he's talked to Bobby about how weak he feels.

Bobby looks a little surprised, maybe, but he nods. "Well, I'll make sure you have all the right papers and credentials," he says, steady and looking at Castiel over his mug of coffee. "You're gonna have to work harder at learning to drive, you know. No more excuses. I'm not gonna haul your ass to work every day." Cas scowls at this, but he knows Bobby is right. Whatever his feelings about the ugly contraptions of unpredictable metal, if he's gonna be human…

"You're right," he concedes. Dean had taken it upon himself to teach Cas how to drive after that first month, while Castiel was still regaining his strength and Dean was still cooing over him like a child. They'd managed to get through the basics, and Cas understood how it worked in general, but they never actually got past the long dirt road that led out to the salvage yard. Castiel had an unnatural hatred for the things and he was sure the feeling was mutual. Cars seemed to almost purr when Dean touched them, but when Cas was behind the wheel they hissed and growled and oil inevitably somehow came out of somewhere and earned him _What the Hell did you do _looks from Dean and the offer to drive the Impala at some point was revoked permanently.

He wasn't looking forward to that part. But, he knew that he would feel more useful with a job, and even more useful if he could actually transport himself to it. So, that afternoon, after Bobby had fabricated all the paperwork and they had sat down and worked out a resume and gathered the fake I.D. and social that had apparently been made months before (Bobby said Dean had made him do it pretty much the day after Cas had called him, and Cas hates that it makes his stomach churn _as usual_), Castiel drove into town in one of the more sturdy and safe-looking clunkers that was parked in the yard and tried to ignore the fact that Bobby was clinging, white knuckled, to what Dean referred to as the "oh shit" handle.

Luckily, they didn't crash and Castiel turned out to be exactly what the library was looking for. His knowledge of books and honest fascination with the ins and outs of the Dewey decimal system was just icing on the cake compared to the glowing resume that Bobby had crafted, and he found himself gainfully employed by the Sioux Fall Public Library just a few hours later.

Which is why, when Dean got home from his week and two day long hunt – the longest yet – Cas wasn't there to greet him with a barely maintained stoic hello and eyes that betrayed how _honestly and_ _embarrassingly happy_ he was to see him. Bobby was in the back, grilling up chicken and beef for dinner and subsequent leftovers, and, apparently, was subject to a massive freak out from Dean on _where the Hell is Cas what did you let him do is he dead is that him that you're grilling right now _and Bobby realized that they had forgotten to tell Dean about what had happened.

* * *

><p>When Castiel gets home that night, tired but excited because <em>he's being so useful<em>, his heart jumps into his throat as his eyes land on the Impala. This had been only his third day on the job, but his first day _really_ doing work and in all the excitement and the anxiousness, he realizes that he had almost forgotten about Dean. And now Dean's back and probably waiting inside and _surely_ Bobby had told him about Cas's job during the past week, but he's not so sure and there's a feeling rising up in him and he's scared of what Dean will do. Maybe he should have called him. Asked for his opinion or just let him know. But it wasn't like Dean ever let _him_ know where he was or when he was coming home, and Cas huffs a bit because _dammit_ if he's not important for Dean to call and tell things, then why should Castiel put out any effort?

It's all so childish, he knows but can't help it.

So he walks inside, quietly shutting the door, and hoping, somehow, that Dean's outside or _something _but, of course, there he is on the couch watching T.V. with a sour look on his face. They both stare at each other, Cas with one hand still on the door knob, Dean in the middle of changing channels, and there's a strain that he knows both of them can feel. In the past month, they've talked to each other so little that Castiel isn't sure he can hold a conversation with him without…

He purses his lips, not realizing how much he had missed making actual eye contact with Dean.

"So…" Dean starts _because he can never just deal with awkward silence_, "librarian, huh?" And his face lights up unexpectedly, a smile stretching across it like it's the funniest, best thing he's ever heard. "Makes sense." And Castiel lets out a breath of air.

"You're not…angry?" he asked, though now he feels stupid for thinking that he would be in the first place.

Dean makes a face, a slight downturn of his mouth and furrowing of the eyebrows. He looks off to the side. "Well, I was at first. But only because no one bothered to tell me."

"It's not like you ever told us when you'd be back," Cas blurts out, and then shuts his mouth again quickly. "I mean – "

Dean waves a hand, cutting him off. "Yeah, yeah," he mutters. "I should have called. Well. I should have called _you_." He frowns, thinking about something, and Castiel takes the moment to move closer to the couch, hands in his pockets, and then quickly realizes that this is really no more comfortable than standing by the door. It's just more awkward. "Sorry, man. I was so caught up in hunting again and it was such a good distraction from…from…" He's struggling and Cas tries to tell himself that _Dean is not blushing_. But then he puts his hands in the air and waves them around a bit and finishes, "Well, you know. Everything." He scoots over on the couch and motions for Cas to join him. "And I'm so used to just having Bobby to call – "

"I understand Dean," Castiel says, leveled. He hesitates, then decides to sit down. "I could have called as well, but I'm not really used to…" he bites his lip, "meaningless phone conversation." As heartless as it sounds, he knows Dean understands what he's trying to get across. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you I got a job, but it was kind of…spur of the moment. I want to be useful and right now I feel like I can only do that by…getting out and making my own money and maybe, I don't know..." He doesn't want to say that he's been considering making enough money to move out of Bobby's house. It doesn't feel like the right time for that, even if he can't shake the need to get away and quit being a burden.

Dean frowns. "But you're already useful, Cas."

Castiel scoffs, a little meaner than intended. "Which is why you call me and let me know when you're going and where you're going and how long you're going to be gone." And it's much more bitter than he thought it would be and he never meant to let out that he was genuinely upset by all that, like he had some sort of claim on what Dean did with his life and his voice and everything, but it's out in the open now and he can't take it back or pretend he didn't mean it because, well, _he did_. So he just turns and meets Dean's eyes and doesn't look away.

"Oh yeah?" And Dean holds the contact, steady and fierce. "And you don't have a phone? Did you ever not think that when I _told you_ that you could call me if you were worried that I might have actually meant it?"

Castiel just glares harder, and Dean eventually breaks the contact with a loud laugh. "I don't see what's so funny, Dean," he growls, which just makes Dean laugh harder and Castiel hates that his stomach is _doing that thing_ again and hates that he had forgotten how much he loved the way Dean's laugh sounded and felt right next to him.

"We're acting like idiots," Dean finally explains, and he smiles at Cas. "For the past month, I feel like we've been silently fighting. I thought you were mad at me, and apparently, you thought the same about me." He presses his fingers together in his lap and studies his thumbs a little too intently. "So, uh. Can we kiss and make up?" he jokes, but as soon as the phrase leaves his mouth, he snaps his lips shut and swallows hard. Just a second passes and he begins to sputter an explanation, but Cas cuts him off.

"We're fine," he says. And he means it. Any resentment he may have felt is gone and all it took was Dean's laugh. And that's so painfully stupid and _human_ that Castiel can't help but smile about it. So much of the angel has seeped out of him, leaving something behind that is definitively human and _not Jimmy_.

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><p><strong>disclaimer: <strong>supernatural © eric kripke


	6. Chapter 6

AHHHH Sorry about taking so long to update! School is crazy and I'm about to finish this semester and graduate in the summer (YESSS) so I've been working on paintings a lot and haven't had free time.

So there's this. And it's fluffy and stupid, but these boys move so slowly it's sad. SOMETHING IS HAPPENING YES. I know where I want this all to go, it's just the getting there that's hard. So hopefully this will be updated more often (and finished) once mid-May and summer hit.

ONWARD.

* * *

><p>After that, Dean calls Castiel a little more regularly. Not every day he's gone, but at least once during a hunt - and, even if it is usually to ask about whatever it is he happens to be hunting or to complain about Bobby taking over too much, Cas enjoys every second. People at the library begin to ask about his girlfriend and <em>is she pretty? <em>and _you seem so happy when you talk to her_ and he just nods and smiles because he feels bad correcting them and also because it gives him an excuse to talk to Dean during work hours.

He researches remedies and spells and rituals and tries his hardest not to think about Dean actually going against these things.

Most of all, though, he wonders if he should try to contact Sam.

Even if Dean is trying to hide it, Cas knows that it's killing him inside. Every now and again, he gets this far off look on his face and Castiel just wants to grip him tight and hold him and tell him that _Sam is okay, he's alive - I saved him_ but he's not sure how Dean will react to that. Not sure if he'll be wanted anymore, if Dean's anger will be too great for whatever it is that they have now. He's not sure if Sam even knows that Dean isn't with Lisa anymore - after all, the main reason that he hadn't wanted Cas to take him to Dean was because he didn't want to ruin the life that he had hoped they had made together.

Maybe if Cas were to call him, to let him know that Dean is hunting again, is with him and Bobby and missing Sam _more than anything, _then Sam would come back.

One day, he starts typing out a message to him but hesitates on the send button. There is no part of him that shouldn't want Sam to come back - he has no idea if he's safe or okay or even _where _he is after all - but, somehow, he can't make himself do it. He loves Sam just as he does Bobby and his nightmares alternate between him in Hell and Dean in Hell - searching and searching but never finding, never fast enough. But Sam had made him promise, had made him swear he'd let Sam come to Dean when he was ready. So he closes his phone and goes back to organizing some of the religious texts in the back of the library.

After an hour or so, he hears footsteps behind him. "Oh, sorry, I can get out of your..." and he trails off because it's Dean that's standing behind him with a smirk on his face and dirt smudged on his chin. Automatically, Cas reaches up a hand and wipes it off, concerned look on his face. "Dean...I thought you weren't supposed to get back until tomorrow?" he asks, and Dean's got that strange look in his eyes again, stiff underneath Castiel's fingers so Cas pulls his hand back with a start, quietly mumbling an apology.

Dean just grins slightly though. "Eh, the hunt ended up not taking as long I thought it would, so I figured I'd come here and surprise you." He laughs. "I got some weird looks from your coworkers, though, when I asked them where you were. I think they like you, man - I had to go through all this questioning before they'd tell me."

Castiel smiles. The staff at the library is gossipy, yes, but they are all very kind. "I think they just like that I actually enjoy organizing things," he says, glancing at the ground. He hears another laugh as Dean puts a hand on his shoulder.

"They told me you got off work in a few minutes, wanna go to dinner with me?"

Castiel looks up at him and there's a faint redness to his cheeks. It takes him just a moment to realize that Dean had said _go to dinner with me_ when a simple _want to get dinner_ would have sufficed. This means nothing, of course. It can't mean anything. But Cas's heart starts drumming loudly anyway and he swallows hard before forcing a smile on his face. "Yes, of course, Dean. Though..." he takes the chance to touch Dean's face again, pretending to wipe of dirt but more wanting to see... "You might want to wash up a bit. I don't know if I want to be seen with you like this."

Sure enough, Dean's face flushes and Castiel can feel it under his fingers. For a moment, he doesn't push away. He simply closes his eyes slightly and leans into it, face still red but content, and Cas can feel his stomach lurching and his heart dropping and - _when did this happen_? - and then Dean opens his eyes and laughs again, a cue for Castiel to drop his hand and for everything to go back to normal. "Okay, okay, point taken. I'll be in the bathroom washing my face. You finish your thing and then we can go."

Dean walks away, maybe a little faster than necessary, and Castiel finishes putting up the stack of books he had abandoned on the ground.

* * *

><p>They're at a rather nice restaurant, actually, which surprises Cas, but he doesn't say anything. Dean must have been able to read the look on his face, though, because he snorts. "Who says Dean can't choose somewhere fancy to eat once in awhile?"<p>

"I never said that," Castiel says, quietly, but his stomach is still doing that thing and he's terrified that Dean will somehow hear it.

In the months since he's been living at Bobby's, Castiel has learned more from T.V. than from either Bobby or Dean. Sure, they may have taught him all the important survival stuff, but it was from watching sitcoms and reality T.V. and talk shows that Cas started to see a part of humans that neither man could probably show him. He found himself getting irrationally attached to characters - who will Rachel end up with? _why won't they kiss already?_ no, that's her evil twin sister! - and discovered that there is more to being a human than just eating and surviving.

Sure, he had some ideas about love - what he had seen for 2,000 years and what he was currently feeling - but he was lost on the _signs_ of love. He knew what happened when people were in love, what they did and how they acted when it was reciprocated - but he didn't know what people did before that. How they knew, how they told, how they could see if someone else loved them back. It took him a few months to decipher _his own_ actions, let alone anyone else's. And it was when he realized that he was thinking about Dean constantly, worrying over him all the time, aching for days when he didn't get to see his smile - that he recognized that, yes, he was probably in love with Dean Winchester.

Perhaps this should have come as a shock to him, as it seems to always come as a shock to the people on T.V. when they make this revelation, but it wasn't really. It was a slow connection that he made - the prickling and the stomach lurching and the _wanting_ - and once he realized that that was what it was, he actually felt a little better. It all made sense. It explained this horrible sense of devotion he had to the man, the anger at him when he thought he was going to say yes to Michael, the utter relief when he realized that he hadn't. He had Fallen for this. It wasn't so much rebellion, he thought, but the fact that he truly loved Dean more than his brothers, Heaven, maybe even his Father.

He had run from the idea, tried to hide it and forget it, but it was there. And once he accepted it, his mind rested a little easier.

Aside from the fact that he now is left to stress over whether or not Dean feels the same way.

T.V., unfortunately, is not a good guide on how to understand Dean Winchester. When Castiel thinks he's seen what television shows tell him is "a sign of attraction," his heart lifts up considerably, flittering, flittering, until Dean does something else that he knows is what's considered "friend zone." Then he gets depressed and won't talk for awhile and Dean freaks out and does more things to get his hopes up and dash them again.

Dean is not like the humans on T.V., Castiel knows (or he wouldn't be in love with him), but it would be a lot easier if he was.

"Hey feather brain," Dean interrupts. He's standing a little further from Cas now, following a waitress to a table, and Castiel is still standing stupidly in the door. "C'mon."

Castiel follows a little more quickly than necessary, probably, and they find themselves at a small, two person table in one of the hidden corners of the restaurant. "This place is very nice, Dean," he says as he sits down. Dean had hovered by the chair for a moment, as if he were going to pull it out for him, but then decided to sit in the other one to face the part of the door they could see.

"Yeah, well," and Dean hesitates, hand on the back of his neck, eyes fidgety. "You deserve to get treated to something nice every now and again, Cas. Bobby's is home, I guess, but you should be allowed to try something other than grilled chicken and vegetables for once."

Cas smiles. "Thank you, Dean."

Their knees bump under the table, and Castiel is about to apologize, but Dean stares him in the eye, freckles darkening, and moves his leg so that it's flush against Cas's, feet intertwining.

"No problem, Cas," Dean says, and it's very steady - maybe _too _steady. "I've been thinking...a lot."

"Which is why you went to Kansas even though there was nothing to hunt." Castiel regrets it almost as soon as he says it, but he feels like maybe it's now or never. Sam will call soon and Dean will hate him anyway, so he figures he might as well just go for broke and see what he can get out of him.

Instead of being angry, however, Dean's leg just tenses against his and he takes a long sip of his water and swallows a little too hard. "Everything's been kind of complicated, Cas. First...Sam is gone and I'm with Lisa but that doesn't feel right, you know? I mean...it was great. We _could_ have been great. But...I didn't feel anything there."

"Because you missed Sam."

"And you."

Dean looks away as he says this, finally breaking eye contact and Castiel forgets to control his feelings and lets his face turn bright red. "...Me?"

"Yes you," Dean says with a laugh. "You're my friend, _idiot_. And you just poofed away without really saying goodbye and I thought I'd never see you again."

"Ah, yes, _friends_," and for some reason, Castiel can't keep the disappointment out of his voice. He never expected Dean to feel the same - his track record was too flawless, to consumed with the same type of person that _Castiel was not_ - and he had come to terms with it, he thought. But he preferred the ambiguity. It was nice to hope, even if it was a fruitless and stupid hope, and Dean spelling it out like that wasn't exactly what he wanted. He had _defined _it. And now Castiel can't have that stupid hope anymore, can't touch Dean thinking that maybe, just maybe...

Dean's hand on his breaks him out of his thoughts. There's a determined look on his face, smothered with dark red and flushed cheeks, and his eyes are steady. "Ever since you came back, I've felt guilty because I haven't thought about Sam," he says, quietly. "I kept going on hunts and getting away because I found myself becoming _too happy_, even with him gone. I didn't _want_ to be happy, Cas. I didn't want to move on or forget. Sam told me to go to Lisa and live that happy life I always wanted, but I _couldn't_ do it. Every day, I just felt out of place and like I didn't belong. Even when I finally left and went to Bobby's, there was still something missing - and I always assumed it was Sam."

His fingers are tightening now, and the waitress has glanced at them at their table and skittered away. Castiel's throat is tightening.

"But then you call me and I sit there and I worry about you and, for the first time, I forgot to be sad about Sam. I told myself it was because you needed me and you were hurting, but even when you got better, I thought less and less about Sam and...more about you. I wanted to show you things, to talk to you and be the one to explain everything, to just...be near you all the time. And I hated myself for it, hated that I had somehow managed to be happier without even trying."

"So you ran away." Castiel's voice is shaking slightly. Once upon a time, he _was_ an angel, was incapable of being shaken up or bothered. He can hardly remember that now, body flip flopping and tensing up under Dean's impossible and beautiful stare. He can hardly remember _not _being in love with Dean.

Dean nods. "I went to Kansas, to Lawrence, to that old grave yard, and I talked to Sam. Told him about how I was scared and stupid. And, yeah, I didn't get an answer back or hear anything, but I realized that Sam wanted me to be happy - to live that apple pie life with Lisa. And maybe, I can still live that life without Lisa. Maybe still hunt, you know, because I can't imagine _not_ hunting. But the happy life - spending it with someone else? I can see that." He swallows, and his eyes are boring into Castiel's. "I still think about Sam, yeah, and it kills me to know what he's going through. But, I know I'm gonna get him back one day. I'm gonna save him, even if he told me not to. Right now, I'm not strong enough, though. Anything I do will still be out of anger."

Dean's thumb is rubbing absent-mindedly on Cas's and he can feel his skin burning. There's a point to all of this, he knows, he just wishes Dean would get to it. More than anything, this is the time when he _should_ tell Dean that Sam is alive, but his mouth can't form the words. Something is happening, and Castiel _wants _it. Wants it more than anything - more than Dean and Sam being back together, even though he knows that that's how it's supposed to be. Dean and Sam Winchester are soul mates, even if it's not in the romantic sense, meant to always be together, brothers until the end. There is no room in that equation for an angel, a _Fallen_ angel, but Castiel is grasping at whatever strings he wants because he's just _so human_ now.

"Most of all, though, I think I was just running away from _you_," Dean is continuing. "I realized that when I was out there, too. I could say over and over again that I was just freaking out because I might have actually been moving on and accepting that Sam was gone, but really...I don't know." He rubs the other hand on the back of his neck again. "I realized that the only way I was ever going to be happy with anyone was if it was with someone who actually _knew _me. Who had gone through all that shit with me and was still there for me in the end. Like Sam, but...not Sam."

Castiel decides he's going to prod it along, still just as impatient as ever. "So you decided to ask me on a date."

Dean sputters for a moment, lets go of Cas's hand and turns a brighter red than before, up to his ears. "Um, well, uh," he attempts, but it takes him a second to remember how to talk. "Um. Maybe? I don't know. Do you want this to be a date? It's been a long time since I've done this and a..._never _with a...well..."

"Yes, Dean," Castiel says softly. "I would, actually."

The smile on Dean's face is hesitant at first, and then beaming, and Castiel forgets that he's being selfish, that Dean _needs _to know about Sam.

Because, right now, Dean thinks he needs _Castiel_ and Cas doesn't want to let go of that, not yet.

* * *

><p><strong>disclaimer: <strong>supernatural © eric kripke


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